Happiest of Holidays

To all of my Jewish friends, Chanukah is over; to my many Christian friends, Christmas Day is now past, and to each and every one of my friends, 2018 is now history and the New Year’s celebration is over as we start a new year. I would have wished my only friend who celebrates Russian Orthodox Christmas, but alas, she too has passed away. I loved hearing her tell of all the bargains that she got, because she celebrated Christ’s birth twelve days after everyone else.

I also worked with a man who was Apostolic and corrected me when I wished him a Merry Christmas. “We don’t celebrate Christmas, but thank you for the thought.”

Rebuffed, I weakly responded, “Then have a happy New Year. I’m sure that you and your church have a new year.”

Yesterday, I tucked away the last of the passing year’s celebrations away. I visited a friend’s home for a New Year’s open house. She graciously allows her friends to gather and share all sorts of finger foods, snacks, and her usual, ham, macaroni and cheese casserole as well as memories, stories, and laughter. To lessen the burden for her guests bring various goodies to share: cookies, drink, salads, cheese, or vegetable trays. My celebration was a little hurried, because my son and his family were coming to visit at my house. My time with them was just a continuation of the festivities. I made the Pennsylvanian traditional pork, sauerkraut, and mashed potatoes. She brought the southwest traditional black-eyed peas, bean dip salsa, and corn chips. The celebration was also for my daughter-in-law Renee Beck’s birthday.

My mom always told me that whatever you do on January first you’ll continue to do all through the coming year. So, on December 31st, I did all of my laundry, I cleaned my house, and I cooked food to celebrate the New Year. I’m so happy that I won’t have to do laundry, clean, or cook in the coming year.

All that is left to tuck finally 2019 away is to take down the Christmas tree and to put away the two crèches that I was too lazy to remove and store from 2018. Do I hear any volunteers?

Joking Isn’t Always Funny

Betty was a licensed practical nurse. Over the years she worked in many areas of the hospital. One evening she was working on the step down unit. Patients who were placed there either came out of the critical care area still needing monitoring overnight or new admissions that needed low level monitoring were often placed there.

Betty was a bubbly woman who enjoyed joking with her patients and making them smile. One evening she her assignment included two older ladies in the same room. The lady in the first bed had been admitted to our hospital several times before and knew Betty. She began to tease the LPN as soon as she entered the room.

The other woman was a nun, but because she was in a hospital gown, Betty didn’t know she was a nun. More importantly the nun didn’t know Betty or Betty’s sense of humor. The nun had broken her leg and was wearing a cast. She was being monitored because of the syncopal episode that caused her fall.

Betty coaxed the nun out of bed and got her to dance while helping her to a bedside chair for the evening meal. The nun smiled and the woman in the other bed laughed. She knew her roommate that Betty was helping was a nun and started to joke with Betty.

The woman asked, “Betty how’s your husband?”

 “Oh, I killed him,” Betty replied flippantly.

The nun stared at Betty opening her eyes wide.

“Just like all the others.” Betty continued.

The nun’s eyes opened a bit wider. All the while the other patient was laughing. She knew Betty was teasing. By continuing to goad Betty, she was getting back at her for teasing at her other admissions.

“How many is that now?” the other woman asked.

“Let me see,” Betty paused like she was counting. “It’s three, now.”

The nun stirred uneasily.

“Did this one die like the others?” the woman in the first bed asked.

“Yes!” Betty acknowledged. “I killed him by having sex.”

The nun blanched. Betty finished what she was doing and left the room.

Later someone informed Betty the second patient was a nun. Betty was so embarrassed. She never had three husbands, nor did she kill anyone, but the nun probably slept with one eye open all night.

Betty said, “I wondered why the nun grabbed her rosary and was running it through her fingers so fast there was smoke coming from the beads.”

Endless Supply of Characters

            After thirty-five years of working as a nurse, I’ve obtained an endless supply of characters and plots for stories. I’ve written fiction about a retired homicide detective from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, but none of his dealings come close to some of the memories that have accumulated over those years on the job. The thing that caused my thoughts to wander back to those some memories was a necktie.

            It was given to me by a fellow worker named Nancy who manned the switchboard. She was a buxomly blonde, pleasant and well-spoken. The switchboard was centrally located in an area that was nearly devoid of phones. It was much easier for me to answer calls from the switchboard than for me to hurry to another area to find a phone. I became friends with all of the operators, but this memory and the tie was from Nancy.

            When I entered the “communications room” one evening, I mentioned that the blouse that she was wearing was nice. It was black with splotches of colors in a deep yellow, a dark green and vivid violet. The darkness of it enhanced the blondeness of her coif. When I complimented the blouse, she replied, “This old thing. I hate it.”
            I said, “It looks very nice on you.”

            Again she snarled, “I’m going home and throw it away.”

            “Why? It’s a pretty blouse.”

            “”If you think it is so pretty, I’ll go home, wash it and you can give it to your wife,” she replied.

            I knew that I wasn’t going to get anywhere arguing, so I made the call and said as I departed, “I still think it’s a nice blouse,” and hurried away before she could respond.

            Because I interacted so much with the operators I always bought a small gift for them at Christmas, especially when I knew their likes. I can’t remember what I got Nancy that year, but later when I came into the switchboard, she scooted her chair back and pulled out a long thin box covered in bright wrapping paper and a large bow from a niche beside her.

            “”Here, this is for you,” she said. Her face was transformed by a sly smile. She watched, the smirk growing larger as she watched me unwrap it. It was a tie made out of the material of that old blouse. As a nursing supervisor, I wore a corresponding tie for most occasions. The patients, families, and staff seemed to like it and I still have nearly one hundred ties in my arsenal.

            When I wore it for the first time and Nancy saw it, she swore and said, “#%*#, it makes a nicer tie than that old blouse.”
            Nancy is dead now and I only pull that tie out once a year on New Year’s Eve. I wear it in memory of her and the story. I plan to wear it to church to celebrate the upcoming New Year. This is for you, Nancy.

Wonderful Whirlwind of Christmas

Where did the day go? Christmas has sped past. Crumpled wrapping paper, empty gift boxes, and left over food in the refrigerator and back porch are the remnants of Christmas 2018. All of my wrapping on Christmas Eve is a memory. But that is what the holidays with family are for.

Christmas day started out at my sister Kathy and her husband’s house for a family brunch. Their beautifully remodeled home belonged to my grandparents Anna and Edson Beck. Gathering there just seemed to carry on family traditions. Bacon, eggs, sweet rolls, cinnamon rolls, meat and cheese tray, pumpkin pie, and a cheese and potato dish were on the menu. When the meal was over, full stomachs and reminders of family stories were all that were left as we sat around the table and talked. Brunch over, I hurried home to get things in order for my children and grandchildren to visit and to eat a late meal after opening gifts.

The kids decided to limit gifts this year, doing a white elephant gift exchange. Grandpa me excluded himself from the exchange, choosing to provide some gifts for all to open. And there was of course the stocking of small surprises for the grandchildren, including a new Christmas ornament. When my children were young, my wife Cindy bought a pickle ornament to hide on the Christmas tree and the child who found it got an extra surprise gift. It wasn’t expensive, but extended the excitement of Christmas for just a bit longer. Celine, Moriah, and Hannah now have their own pickle ornament for their own tree.

After opening gifts, my living room looked like a battle zone with wrapping paper wads, empty gift boxes, and empty stockings. The wrapping paper “snowball” battle was limited this year when a large canon ball of a paper wad knocked over several of my stemmed votive cups.

My daughter-in-law escaped much of the festivities by not feeling well, maybe the beginning of the flu. Please pray for her. We ate our Christmas meal, still talking and sharing stories. Memories shared and memories made.

The house is quiet again and I have time to reflect on the true meaning of Christmas. After the hubbub of the day has died and the stillness of the empty house has returned I am reminded why we celebrate Christmas. It is the birth of God’s only begotten Son and the great gift of eternal life, reconciled from sin, redeemed by his blood, and adopted into his family as joint heirs.

Decorating the Christmas Tree

I can’t remember whether or not my mother Sybil Beck ever told me that she helped her mom, Rebecca Miner decorate the Christmas tree in their huge farm house in Indian Head, Pennsylvania. But my mom always allowed my sister Kathy, my brother Ken, and me to decorate our tree at home. Each of us children had one special ornament that was the culminating experience of our holiday excitement. Later, I’m sure Mom “allowed” us to put on the layer after layer of limp, metallic icicles, because the tedious work it involved. Draping those silver tinsel icicles was a long and arduous process. Sometimes when Mom wasn’t looking and we were near the end of the batch, we’d just toss them onto the tree in one swift move. That was okay as long as they didn’t end up in a ball.

My wife Cindy and I continued a similar tradition into our own home allowing our kids to help decorate the tree. The icicles were a thing of the past, but each and every Christmas Amanda, Andrew, and Anna got a new ornament to add to their collection. As they grew older, it was their responsibility to hang, later remove and store them safely at each Christmas holiday.

When our kids married and left the nest, they took their large stash of handmade and store bought ornaments with them to use for their first Christmas in their new homes. Sentimental, perhaps, but I liked to think that a part of their Christmas happiness from their old home was being transferred and established in their new home, making the transition to married life just a little bit easier.

Now, at home it’s just the cat Willow and me. She doesn’t do much to decorate, but will be induced to attack some wooly or fuzzy looking ornament if it is hung low enough on the tree. I have had to rescue a poor white yarn lamb several times this year. Otherwise, she is content to make a bed on the thick fuzzy tree skirting and nap. Lately, there is no need to rescue ornaments. By hanging a set mousetrap as the lowest ornament, a loud snap has cured her from attacking the tree.

Merry Christmas to all.

Homeless Isn’t Always Houseless

I’ve just done something utterly crazy to some people. I drove to Walmart for a few items and to get gasoline before everything closed for Christmas. I thought about going after the evening church service, but I thought that the stores would be packed and I didn’t feel like facing the crowd. Because I didn’t want to mingle with the last minute shoppers, I said to myself, “When you wake up in the middle of the night for the usual bathroom run, make the Walmart run as well,” and I did.

It was semi-snowing with icy pellets mixed in. After cleaning my car, I carefully drove to Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania. In the center of the town, I was greeted by the nativity, its old figurines and “starry” lights welcomed me. The streets in town were clear and absent of the snow that covered the roads near my house.

The shoppers at Walmart were almost non-existent, employees made up the bulk of the faces that I saw. The drive to and from the store were reminiscent of the late evening drives after my shift at the hospital. As a nurse, being off duty during the holidays was an extreme luxury. The drive home at 11:30 Christmas Eve was a long and lonely trip, seeing so few other vehicles on the road and so many of the businesses closed.

As I drove, I was reminded of how things had changed. Back then I was driving home to be with my family. Now, I was driving to my house. Oh, the furniture and Christmas tree are the same, but my wife Cindy is no longer there to greet me and my family has left the nest. I still have a warm place to live, but much of the life has left too.

Don’t get me wrong. I am truly grateful to have a house and my family, but the ties that make a house a home have frayed. I am looking forward to Christmas Day, when my children and grandchildren come and visit, making it a home again, even for a short while.

Christ’s birth was a gift from God and a blessing to all. Merry Christmas.

Timeline Truths for the Birth of Jesus

After the predictions from the Old Testament about the forthcoming Messiah, the order of occurrences at the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem has been skewed by paintings, traditions, and hymns of the Christmas season. The first fulfilled sign was the appearance of the star. This special star was noted by astronomers and scientists of that era. The unusual and distinct divergence from the normal night sky intrigued the Magi enough to gather a caravan and follow it from the east. The wise men learned of it from old texts, because the star was predicted in Numbers 24:17. “I shall see him, but not now: I shall behold him, but not nigh: there shall come a Star out of Jacob, and a Sceptre shall rise out of Israel, and shall smite the corners of Moab. And destroy all the children of Sheth.” They connected the dots and sought this King represented by the Sceptre. Readying themselves and making the journey would have taken about a year or more.

The next event would have been the annunciation and the miraculous impregnation of Mary. Luke 1:26-38. Joseph’s visitation of an angel in a dream came next. Matthew 1:18-25. Caesar Augustus decreed that all should go to their own city to be taxed. Luke 2:1-5. Joseph and Mary left Nazareth to Joseph’s hometown of Bethlehem.

It was pointed out to me that the image of Mary riding on a donkey and being nine months was almost as impossibility. Joseph being a carpenter would probably have had a cart to carry tools, lumber, and the items he made. He would have not have left his tools behind and they would need supplies for the ten day journey. Arriving in Bethlehem, they took the only shelter that was available in a stable.

About this time, the Magi would have gotten to Jerusalem seeking the newborn King. Matthew 2:1-9. While they were in audience with King Herod, angels appeared to shepherds. They hurried to find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. It was another prophecy fulfilled. 1 Samuel 2:34. While the Magi traveled from Jerusalem to Bethlehem, Mary and Joseph acquired lodging in a house where they were found by the Magi. Matthew 2:11. Most pictures and Crèches have the wise men at the stable. Tradition and the hymns also say there were three because of the gifts: gold, frankincense, and myrrh, but there were probably more people than this. The Magi were warned of God not to return to Herod and departed for home by another route.

This was all done before Jesus was eight days old, because he was taken to the Temple in Jerusalem to be circumcised. Luke 2 21-38. Then Joseph, being warned in a dream, departed to Egypt to reside with his family until Herod’s death and the danger of the decree to slay all children two years and under was gone. The two years was a time to coincide with the appearance of the star.